


never be the same now

by bbabyhoney



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: 1989, F/M, brief joe alwyn, my head hurts wow, this is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbabyhoney/pseuds/bbabyhoney
Summary: Harry takes a moment to wonder how much she believes the line "every love I’ve known in comparison is a failure". If so, he should probably try and ring her again.





	never be the same now

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't even read this through properly so please forgive me. inspired by listening to 1989 on repeat for three days straight .

Harry’s resting his hands on the steering wheel as he drives through the ambling LA traffic, just wanting to be home; a home that was far, far away from here. There’s no weight pressing down on his chest anymore, probably because he’s just left his latest squeeze with a regretful smile and a mumble of  _ i just don’t think i’m ready to settle down like you are, darling.  _ He hadn’t been lying either, he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t even twenty five yet (and even though all his mates had settled down way before that age;  _ note Jeff, Ben, his own mother, probably _ ), and he still had a few years of messing around in him. 

 

In all honesty, it’s kind of depressing because he can pinpoint the exact reason why he doesn’t quite want to settle down yet. It’s not due to the fact he wants to see how many Victoria’s Secret models he can score before he’s thirty, or how many pretty boys he can kiss down back corridors at industry parties, it’s because of  _ her.  _ So very tragically heartbreaking, he thinks, leaning back against the expensive leather in his car and reaching out to fill the overbearing silence with the white noise. 

 

It’s been two years, at least, since he last saw her. Two years since he last took her in his bed, hands knitted together in that comforting way and she moaned her melodical little noises into his shoulder as they made love one last time, in fact. Shaking out his hair, long enough now to tickle his ears, he takes a turn onto Mulholland, deciding to just drive because the winding road is a good place to think, his place, Harry had decided way back when he was nineteen and couldn’t escape bright white flashes or nosey teenagers in any other way. 

 

Harry nearly chokes on his own tongue when he hears that beat, repetitive and too familiar, playing over the car speakers, and his fingers jolt out on instinct to flick the radio to a different channel, but just as he goes to turn the knob, he stops. Her voice floods over him like honey that drips down his thighs to his feet, worms its way into his ears and settles in his brain. She’s all blue eyes and a (classic) crimson red smile when he glances to his right, satin blouse and those new curls she’s been sporting when he saw a billboard of her when in New York on tour and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to remember she’s not  _ actually there _ . How ironic that she’s reappearing in broad daylight as a ghost. He laughs at his brains ridiculous way of humouring him. 

 

The absurdly warm Los Angeles air washes over Harry as he rolls the window down, bopping his head as the song pulses over him, making the hairs on his arms stand on end like it had done the first, second, third time he’d heard it. But today, for some odd reason; maybe it’s the fact he’s definitely single, or it’s exactly three weeks until he should be kissing her as the ball drops just like they had done five years earlier, but he can feel he words stabbing at his blackened, screwed up heart. 

 

_ when we go crashing down, we come back every time _

 

For four years, it had been the case, of course it had. Every time he’d seen her they’d ended up in bed together, every time he’d picked up the phone to her they’d talked bullshit for hours and every time he’d broken her heart, they’d made it work. Then the trend was over, the trend of drives through empty streets at two in the morning, the trend of flicking the headlights off and letting the car purr while he knocked at her front door. Even the sunset beating hot against his arm can’t warm up the chill inside of him when he thinks of that argument, the one that had ruined their longevity, because they’d never been  _ together  _ since then, it hadn’t been the same them that had walked the streets of New York as young lovers. He just used her after that. Makes him gulp that she wrote it so explicitly in a song for her millions of fans to hear.  _ “Let me remind you this was what you wanted,” She’d said loudly down the phone to him, when he was sitting in some foreign country, mouth dry and skin hot while he sat out on some stupid balcony, sea air tickling his legs. “You ended it.”  _

 

Harry’d tried to drink the memories away, any sane person would’ve, but here he is, driving so he can see the Hollywood sign and thinking of no one but her. He’d wanted to pull his hair out from the root _. “You were all I wanted!” He’d yelled, listening to it throbbing with a lazy echo off the coast of which the expensive house the boys were renting was built into. “But not like this.” Harry had added, defeated, because he’d lost her.  _ He’d become nothing much more than a muse that had abandoned her after that, and left the best thing he could ever have imagined being with. 

 

Christ. He needs a drink now before he seriously contemplates sending her a message that tells her he loves her and driving this car off the road and right into the belly of the San Fernando Valley. He snaps out of it as he has to dodgily swerve to avoid actually plummeting to his death, and the song has changed to some upbeat pop song that makes Harry want to claw out his eyeballs, so instead he flicks on an old CD, sighing and noticing Jeff’s name flashing on the screen of his cell that he’d left on the passenger seat. He can wait, Harry has a five year broken heart to tend to, one that had scabbed over but now was hanging more loosely open than ever.    
  
A hand he wishes was hers brushes down his chest, and he thumbs the buttons of his shirt open wider and tries to remember himself with her lipstick smudged over his face, he can’t. The memory of that has ebbed away, and it makes his stomach clench. How many times can he follow this winding road and ponder over the same things. With a heavy breath, he pulls his car over at a photography spot, the tires making a dust cloud that he steps out into. He moves his hair from where it’s tickling his forehead, phone in his fist, and he sits down on the bench there, back hunched. Harry’s elbows dig into his knees, and the sun makes him squint and all he can think of is how he definitely doesn’t look like her James Dean any longer, he’s broader and with two day old stubble on his jaw and black ink winding from his wrist to his shoulder. He’s still got those wild eyes she always pined after, of course, wild forest green that she’d lost herself in. The song is still in Harry’s head, and he (lamely) clicks onto his music and onto her newest release. 

 

He clicks on the same song that had made him scoff when Jeff had played it to him during a break at a meeting, and his feet had fallen from the place they were crossed on the table. He’d used her words against her and she’d done it right back, and he’d called her three times until it rang off to voicemail and left her a short message. Not much more than **_are you bored, Taylor? Write about someone else, play your silly mind games with them instead._** She’d left him a voicemail almost two weeks after he’d left his, he’d missed the call because he was on stage but his chest ached when he heard her voice. **_Rich coming from the man that does the same. I’ll stop when you do._** The beat to this isn’t anything he’d usually indulge in, but her voice has that same twang it did when she called his name and smile that way she did and when they spoke in a hideaway under her soft bed covers. Harry takes a moment to wonder how much she believes the line _every love I’ve known in comparison is a failure._ If so, he should probably try and ring her again. 

 

He found it strange that all anyone ever talked of was how he’d latched onto her and buried himself into her heart and never quiet let go, anchored himself inside of her ribcage and made a home there. But no one had gauged that the pieces of him that were shrapnel inside of her flesh were missing from him. He’d given her his necklace and three quarters of the healthy bit of his heart. No wonder someone had said his album was no much more than  _ sad wanking,  _ he’d been there a couple times, hand around himself and frown on his face as he bit into the hard muscle of his bicep and felt her name leave her mouth in breathless moans. Letting his gaze flicker across the huge expanse in front of him, burning red and orange and gold, blue dripping lower towards the city as sweat beads across the back of his neck and his cheeks feel damp, he just sighs. He snorts to himself as he realises he’s crying, and the heel of his palm comes to his cheeks and smears the tears away quickly, clicks on to his contacts and scrolls until he finds it. 

 

_ Tay.  _ Saved with a little heart, not changed since they were harryandtaylor and not Harry and Taylor because he never quite had the heart or the willpower to alter it. His thumb wobbles over the number, breath catching in his chest as he hears the beg of her voice over the words playing through his phone speakers. He’d glad no one’s around to see him like this.  _ You know for me, It’s always you. I know for you, It’s always me.  _ That’s what it takes for him to squeeze his eyes shut and press the number, watching her name flash up on the screen and him drag his toe through the dirt underneath his boot. 

 

He stands, gulping and stretching out his shoulder blades, breath catching before the rings falter a little and he hears a click. She’s answered, and he can hear the static of it before a small breath of hers through the receiver. “Harry,” She says quietly, so quiet he barely catches it, and he can feel the syllables of how she says it at the back of his throat, in his palms, smacking him dad in the chest until he’s winded. Exactly the same way she’d always said it. 

 

“Taylor.” Harry counters and she doesn’t say anything. Just waits. She knows he’s got something to say. A moment passes, and Harry turns to glance over the whole of Los Angeles, the lights twinkling beneath his feet, the twisting headlights along the highway that seems to emerge from nowhere. “I..” He’s not sure how to even broach this subject.  _ Hi, I know I wrecked a portion of your life, will you have me back?  _ He hasn’t even thought of what he’d wanted to say anyways, and it’s been two years and he wants to kick himself for not having noted down something hopeless romantic to impress her with. 

 

He hears her clear her throat and deep down, burning courage builds. “How is everything?” He asks, clear as day and she laughs, quiet and small and so un-taylor-like. “It’s good, Harry. Did you only ring to ask how I am?” That makes him laugh, a nervous chuckle that hurts his tummy a bit. “I think you know I didn’t” He says truthfully, glancing over his shoulder as he sees another car whizz past and wind its way further up the hill. He’s still alone then. 

 

“Uh, just..missed you, I guess It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He sounds calmer than he feels, and he thanks his lucky stars for that one. Thank god, really. “It has.” Taylor lays back in her bed, wearing some soft cotton pyjamas with the covers around her waist. This wasn’t how she envisioned her friday night, but she can hardly say it’s a bad way. His voice sounds deeper to her, raspy with exhaustion, and it makes a warm feeling tingle in her chest. “I was just wondering,” He cuts her off shamelessly as she goes to speak again, because he can’t wait and he doesn’t want to hear how much better of she is without him. 

 

Harry rubs his toes together in his normal nervous way as the silence between them elogates, and Taylor shifts around, reaching for her wine glass off of the side and lets the dryness of it stick to her teeth. If she recalls right, this is one of his favourite wines, or it had once been. She’d found it at the back of one of her cupboards and decided to open it for old times sake. “If you meant what you said. In those songs.” He speaks all stop and start for a moment, tugging on his hair in a bit of a panic. 

 

She needs a moment to process it, what he’s asking, and she’s already nearly spat out the wine in her mouth anyways, right when her phone had vibrated with his call. “Which songs, Harry?” This isn’t the time to fuck up, and so she wants to be sure before she puts her foot right in it and welcomes him back to his residency in her bed. “You know.” He mutters bluntly and Taylor lets out a breath that makes her bangs fly up from her forehead. “Of course I did.” She sighs, wanting to say that she meant all of it, she still valued him and their time together. “Right,” He says, wants to jump for joy because maybe there’s a rope of hope he can cling to and hoist himself back up into her with, just maybe. “I just broke up with my girlfriend.” He blurts, laughing in pity at himself. “Keep thinking that there’s uh, someone else.” 

 

Taylor knows the feeling, knows what it’s like to kiss someone and it not be him even though she wants nothing more, knows what it’s like to sleep with someone with those same dark curls because when the light in the room is dim enough it might just be him that’s panting into the crook of her neck. But she also knows what it’s like to love someone without that crippling anxiety he brought her, and she’s not sure if she’d ever want that clawing feeling she got when he held her hand again, wouldn’t want the terror of a simple walk down the street. “Oh, Harry,” She starts, wanting to console him but how can she when she almost feels like this is a good thing, even when she tries to shove the feeling lower. “I’m sorry,” She adds, rubbing her lips together and she almost wishes she was wearing a pretty dress for this. She’d always wanted to dress up for him, he’d been so young but he’d been more mature than anyone else she’d ever wanted to be with. “You don’t have to be” He interrupts her from her thoughts and it’s becoming apparent that they’re both skirting around that one subject. 

 

A rather awkward silence ensues, and Harry bites into his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood. He needs to just bloody say it. “We’ll never go out of style, and all that bullshit.” He starts, and Taylor is sure she can hear Joe rattling the front door as he tries to get in. He’d been out with some mates all night. “Harry..I’ve got someone else now” She tries to stop him, because her heart is clenching because all he will ever mean to her is crooked love and pained chaos. They wouldn’t work, not now. She has Joe, lovely Joe she’s about to spend her second Christmas with, blue eyes and all, and she hasn’t needed Harry in a while, no matter how much she  _ wanted  _ him. “And I’m happy for you, Tay, but-” She cuts him off with little hesitation because Joe is about to walk into the bedroom and the last thing she wanted to do was being caught on the phone to her ex. Her brain decides to butt in then.  _ Not just your ex, the ex you’re still in love with.  _

 

“I have to go,” She whispers before he says anything else that makes it all rush back, and once she’d put the phone down, her fingers delve into the drawer next to her bed, fingertips tangling through the all too familiar chain and thumbing at the cold feeling paper airplane. 

 

Harry wants to throw his phone off the side of the mountain and curl up in his car and die a slow and horrible death. He should’ve told her he still loved her, anything. Instead he’d quoted one of her songs to her, and what kind of idiot would ever think that was alright. He groans as he climbs back into his car, shoving it violently into gear and driving back towards the city. He’s getting drunk tonight, maybe some pretty girl might happen to fall into bed with him and he’ll be able to quell the embarrassment and loneliness in his chest for a couple of hours. 

 

At three in the morning, Harry vomits into the toilet bowl with his hand curled around his phone, hair in his eyes. The girl he’d just had sex with was fast asleep in his bed and she looks too much like  _ her _ for his liking. He’s drank too much, mixed his drinks too much, but he ignores the rational part of his brain that’s screaming  _ NO _ as he opens up his texts and starts to type the best he can, even though his eyes are blurred and he feels like his brain is going to explode

 

**_3:27am : ilovevyou_ **

 

**_3:30am: ik;m so drunk but i nevr meant to hurt you like i did_ **

 

**_3:31am : im so sprry_ **

 

**_4:04am : for me it was alwyass you too taylor_ **

 

Taylor knows she shouldn’t read it, but Joe is asleep against her side and he could sleep for England, so she reads the messages with a sigh. Before her thoughts even catch up with her, she’s out of bed and locking the bathroom door, sitting down on the toilet seat and calling him. 

 

“Harry?” She asks, arm curled around her chest and chin on her knees because the tiles on the bathroom floor are icy cold and she doesn’t want freeze to death. She can just hear heavy breathing, maybe a sigh of a soft groan. “I loved you so much, T.” It’s almost laughable, how much he’s slurring, and her heart clenches because what if he’s alone. It’s been a while since she got a call like this from him. 

 

“I wanna see you and kiss you and I promise I will never..” He trails to a stop, coughing down the line all wetly and gross and she frowns. “I’ll never hurt you again.” His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care, and he waits, waits for her response until it feels like forever has passed and he glances at the screen of his phone. She’d hung up. 

 

Harry has to use a shattered phone for a week because he’d thrown it at the door when he’d seen she’d ended the call so abruptly, perhaps without even listening to him. It’s embarrassing, sure, not as embarrassing as seeing her holding hands with her boyfriend in the middle of New York City on the day he’s supposed to be getting his phone fixed. Maybe he should be spiteful, and call the paps on them, but he doesn’t want her to hate him, not really, and instead takes a small glance at the length of her bare legs and ducks into a coffee shop where he orders a double espresso. 

 

He meets a pretty girl in there. They hit it off. He ends it the day before New Year’s because he just can’t. Can’t be with someone on  _ their  _ day. Instead, he watches the ball drop from a prime spot on a hotel bed, drinking a lukewarm smoothie he’d found in one of his bags. At a minute past midnight, his phone vibrates and he wants to throw it at the wall and smash the newly fixed screen because he just can’t be bothered. 

 

**_0:01am : we’ll come back every time . TS_ **


End file.
